


Dead Dogs

by Dani Dandelion (rat_insatiable)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bullying, Child Abuse, Flash Fic, Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rat_insatiable/pseuds/Dani%20Dandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy becomes trapped by life experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Dogs

Arlin's dad turned the dog loose in the field behind the house. The lab mix fled into the sunshine, ears flapping, tongue lolling. Insects rose from the tall grass as it swayed in the dog's exuberant wake.

Arlin jumped as a thunder-crack split the blue sky. The dog tumbled into the grass, out of sight, in one gunshot.

The man whooped, rifle raised above his head. Then he turned and waved to the wide-eyed little boy watching from the back door. "First shot! Pretty good, huh?" The man's eyes got all crinkly when he smiled.

Arlin was four. He stopped bringing home stray dogs after that.

* * *

"Say it."

Arlin stared at the ceiling.

" _Say it._ "

His arms hurt from being wrenched behind his back and tied up in his father's grey work socks. They throbbed in some parts and tingled in others.

"Boy, if you don't tell me you are trash, I'm gonna knock that stupid look right off your face!"

 _You are trash,_ Arlin wanted to say. Technically, he'd be obeying his dad's wishes, but he'd also catch a belt buckle to the face.

"M'trash."

"What's that, boy? Speak up."

"I. Am. Trash." Proper pronunciation. Just like his teacher taught him. To speak like a proper adult.

His father's blue eyes pierced right through him. "You're goddamn right you are." He left the room, and said, "Move from that spot, and I'll kick your ass."

Arlin stayed on his numb knees for another forty minutes. His dad didn't untie his arms until his fingers started turning purple. Then the man hit him anyway because his socks got stretched. "I told you not to move," he'd said.

Arlin was eight. When his dad was around, he could barely talk, think, or breathe.

* * *

Arlin's dad brought his gun to the Dollar Tree, and someone called the cops. He threatened to exercise his second-amendment rights if the dirty government police tried to take his gun away.

The police told him to put down the weapon and step away. Arlin's dad fired a warning shot. It shattered a glass case a few feet away, sending shards into the arms of a parent shielding their toddler.

Arlin huddled at the end of the snack aisle as cops swarmed inside the store to pin down his father.

Half an hour later, one of the policemen hauled him up by one arm.

"Your daddy had to come with us," the cop said. Arlin hadn't asked where he'd gone. "Don't worry, we'll find somebody to take care of you." Arlin hadn't been worried. "Can you be brave for me, buddy?"

Arlin nodded. It was what adults wanted from him. They didn't like it when he asked questions, or felt anything.

Arlin was still eight. He never saw his father again.

* * *

September 15th: Sent to the principal's office for de-greasing his school lunch pizza in seventh-grader Callie's hair. She was already an oily, pimply mess, so Arlin didn't see why it mattered.

October 7th: Two Saturday detentions for pantsing ninth-grader Christina in the hallway between classes. He just wanted to prove to everyone that "Chrissie" was lying about being a girl. His dad hated liars.

October 21st: Received a three-day suspension for telling his History teacher the truth. The Holocaust was fake, plain and simple, so he didn't have to study it with the rest of the class. And, thanks to his school's strict policies on discrimination, he wouldn't have to.

December 9th: Started spending two hours of every school day at the local boys home for behavioral correction. He knew it was so he couldn't harass Christina anymore. Callie had vanished from school back in September.

December 30th: Hit his foster father hard enough to break his nose. One spent the night in the hospital, and the other got moved into the boys home. His real dad was never such a snitchy chickenshit.

Arlin was fourteen, but as far as he was concerned, his childhood ended at four.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Write the backstory of a bully.


End file.
